


Order

by Shougie



Series: When Angels wage war. [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shougie/pseuds/Shougie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Angels have declared war upon all the other species. Elves retreat to their realm, Dwarves barricade their tunnels, humans argue whether or not to fight and the Demons prepare in secret. The war will be fought one way or another, but can one man unite the the Species of Erda and push back a force thought to be unstoppable?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haedriel- Loss

**Haedriel**

 

Court always bored me. I was a warrior, not a politician but I was chosen by my people - the Nephilim - to be the Archangel, their leader. I was the strongest, and some would say the wisest, but I never thought the ability to survive and out thinking and enemy was really a sign of wisdom. I was one of the Seven Archangels of my species, we seven represented the seven races of Angels and made the decisions that kept the so called order in our society and today we were to choose a Paragon, the one true leader that we, the other six Archangels were to advise. 

 

“This is always a most trying time.” Damascia murmured beside me in an old tired voice. The Archangel of the Erelim appeared as an Old man with ribbon like wings connected with a membrane almost like light made solid in actuality my species had no sex nor gender and although Damascia appeared old he was in fact the youngest of the Archangels at only three hundred and twelve; The Erelim’s aging didn’t stop until they entered into at least their sixth decade or sometimes into their eighth. 

 

“Trying, but necessary.” The Cherubim Archangel chimed across the table. I couldn’t help but think of how much Casia could represent how confusing our species was to the others of our world. They appeared to be twelve but in reality was nearly twice as old as Damascia and didn’t seem to belong to either sex that the other races hold as their norm. Although I was not the Angel to tell whether or not Casia looked more male of female as the idea of separating a people based on behavioral norms and physical appearance confused me. “How is your child, Haedriel?” 

 

“Very well, Sorael is taking to the arts much like their Saesae.” I responded, regretting that small talk was always apart of court while waiting for all the Archangels to assemble but thinking of my child did fill me with pride. True children were a rarity in my species, it took a joining of two Angel’s magical force to create a child and most times that joining failed.

 

“Aren’t you just the proud Siesah.” Casia cooed, he golden wings fluttering with excitement. I was always fascinated by the wings of the Cherubim, wings that looked too small to let them fly and in triple pairs but the most interesting thing to me was their appearance of being made of one thick feather shaped as a bird’s wing. The contrast between our wings surprised me sometimes.

 

I heard the flutter as two other Archangel’s flew through the high window, one sounding powerful and the other delicate. Orus of the Aeons and Yria of the Virtues had arrived.

 

“This day is shaping up to be just gorgeous.” Orus declared, emphasising the last word. If Orus wasn’t so obsessed with painting I would think that they were vain but Orus was not the vain one among the Archangels. They ruffled their long golden hair as their butterfly like wings fanned delicately. “I simply must paint a tribute to today. The air is so fresh, you can smell the blossoms even here at the Citadel and it is just the perfect temperature for flying.”

 

“I just hope we’re not here long.” Yria droned, as they took their place at the table, long black wings spilling across the ground. I knew Yria was in a dower mood since today would either decide if they would remain as Paragon or if they’d finally be free of the politics.

 

I found the Aeons and Virtues to be the most amusing of our races, the Aeon’s provoked lust filled looks from other races as being considered the most beautiful of Angels while the Virtues caused confusion since, like with some of the Cherubim, they did not appear to fit with one sex or another. The Virtues caused just a bit more confusion than the Ophanim who, as I’ve been told by some different species, look like one sex but act as the other. Though in this I always find myself becoming confused, in what ways did the different sexes act differently?

 

“Krysariel will be with us soon, lovelies.” Cathus boomed, as they entered the room. Cathus wore a sultry emerald gown most likely to go with their lilac coloured wings, to say that I was uncomfortable at seeing a sultry gown on the Ophanim Archangel’s muscled body would be an understatement, this was court not a gala.

 

“What excuse does Krysariel use this time to have us wait?” I asked trying to sound amused to cover my contempt. Only three of the Seven Archangel’s had arrived on time, whereas the other four – one being the current Paragon the other being the courts favourite to become the next Paragon- were several minutes late.

 

“Forgive me, dear Haedriel, I arrived here hours early and lost track of all time while I was in the archives.” Krysariel called as she entered the room, her translucent wings glowing softly. The Seraphim had wings similar to the Erelim, light made solid, but where the Erelim had the off white ribbons the Seraphim only had the solid light like quality, and Krysariel’s were in the form of triple paired wings.

 

“Understandable then.” Damascia nodded, I already began to suspect who supported her to become Paragon. Krysariel say with the grace that came with being a Seraphim, but no one but I saw the coiled viper she was.

 

The Seraphim and Nephilim were the only Angelic races to ever wage war against each other. We Nephilim are warriors - both mystically and physically – and the Seraphim are as well but they key difference, Nephilim fight with honour the Seraphim do anything for victory. I knew Krysariel’s rise to power was suspicious, many of the Archangel candidates for the Seraphim suddenly backed out or began supporting Krysariel with the shadow of fear in their eyes. I also knew Krysariel spent years among the other species, adopting the pronoun ‘She’ in certain situations and flaunting the raven haired beauty the Krysariel had. The Seraphim appeared sexually as female to the other species and we Nephilim appeared male, in a way we were opposite sides of the same coin and some believed we were fated to always clash.

 

“You all are familiar with the procedure now. We declare the name of the Archangel we believe to be best suited for Paragon. We are forbidden from declaring ourselves, and once a majority has chosen a Paragon there will be no debate.” Yria stated, a glimmer of anticipation at finally being finished as Paragon in their eye. “Before we begin I must say this: I, Yria of the Virtues do hereby forfeit my rights as Paragon and state my desire to not be considered for the role during this time. Does anyone else wish to withhold themselves from becoming Paragon?”

 

We all remained silent. In truth I did not wish to become Paragon, but if it was a choice between myself and Krysariel I would choose to become Paragon just to keep it from the almond eyed viper that was Krysariel.

 

“Then let us begin.” Yria said, sitting up completely straight. “I, Yria of the Virtues, nominate Krysariel of the Seraphim for Paragon.”

 

 _One for Krysariel._ I thought.

 

“I, Casia of the Cherubim, nominate Haedriel of the Nephilim for Paragon.”

 

_One for me, I swore Casia would vote for Krysariel._

 

“I, Krysariel of the Seraphim, nominate Haedriel of the Nephilim for Paragon.”

 

_What? Why would she nominate me?_

 

“I, Orus of the Aeons, nominate Krysariel of the Seraphim for Paragon.”

 

_Two to two._

“I, Cathus of the Ophanim, nominate Haedriel of the Nephilim for Paragon.”

 

_My turn._

“I, Haedriel of the Nephilim, nominate Damascia of the Erelim for Paragon.” Everyone shifted uncomfortably at my vote, the norm would have been my vote going to Krysariel since they had voted for me; more than likely that was the motivation behind Krysariel nominating me for Paragon.

 

“I, Damascia of the Erelim, nominate-“Everyone seemed to lean forward with anticipation. “Krysariel of the Seraphim for Paragon.”

 

 _So close._ I closed my eyes in disappointment, in the event of a tie the former Paragon’s vote was counted as two votes thus Krysariel was now Paragon and we Archangels were to advisor with how best to carry out her wishes.

 

“Then so it is that Krysariel of the Seraphim has been risen to Paragon.” Yria declare, a hint of joy in their voice.

 

“Thank you, everyone.” Krysariel smiled. “Now as Paragon I would like to declare my first order: We Angels will go to War against the lesser species and share with them the order and peace that we have. Then we shall turn our attention on to the Demons and wipe their infestation from our world.”

 

The look of shock was shared by everyone, Krysariel was asking us to advisor on a conquest. She wished to bring Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Fae, Beastkind and every other species under our subjugation an then destroy the Demon kind.

 

“It may be best to gather the humans first for their numbers.” Damascia said beside me. I turned to look at them in shock, tradition dictated we couldn’t advise her against as such would cause chaos but how could anyone agree with this?

 

“The Elves could prove difficult, maybe allying ourselves with them until we are ready to crush them would be best. After all they have defied the unified force of the Angelic army before.” Casia chimed.

 

“We could try to enlist the Dragons.” Yria started.

 

“Enough!” I yelled, slamming my hands onto the table and forcing myself to stand. “I will not be a part of this war mongering nor can I believe that any of you would be ok with this.”

 

“Haedriel, this is highly inappropriate.” Krysariel scolded, an odd fire in her eye.

 

“If it’s inappropriate to speak against insanity then I have no more to say to any of you.” I sneered, stretching my tawny wings before I took flight. I could feel their eyes on me as I left, and I could feel the disappointment and shame as well.

 

 

* * *

 

 It always took my breath away to see Amyrth from the sky, to see its seven districts nestled around the Citadel like spokes in a wheel. I veered to the right towards the Nephilim district, my home. I could see the tanned stone of the buildings and paved training grounds that dotted the district.

 

The city was gigantic, over one million Angels lived behind its carved marble walls, and it was in truth the only city of Angels left in our world. Once we had been many like the Humans but over the many millennia our people have faced cities like Saphon, Dimar and Marald were abandoned as our numbers slowly shrank. It all came down to the children, we Angels could barely have one and once bonded in such away we can’t take another partner to try the bonding again, our magicks repelled us from such a thing.

 

Another reason I was glad to have Sorael.

 

I had met my partner, Damphrus, around three hundred years ago…they were an oddity among the Nephilim. Damphrus didn’t care about sword play, combative magick, strategy or command, they cared about Art and beauty.

 

I still remember the day I met them, it was autumn and the city was surrounded by autumn flowers. The cliché of my story was that I met them at sunset, I was inspecting the wall for cracks and ruin- an old habit from my days as a simple guard that carried even into my time as an Archangel- that was when I saw them. The easel was a cacophony of colour but even from a distance I could make out the individual flowers, the Angel in front of the easel was just as impressive. Red blonde hair, pale skin, lean muscles and rust coloured wings.

 

“A Nephilim that paints?” I asked, slightly amused. “I didn’t realize any of our kind had artistic skill.”

 

They turned to face me, a brilliant and mischievous smile on their lips and in their deep violet eyes. “Are kind are always artistic”

 

“I couldn’t draw a circle to save my life.” I scoffed, taken aback by their statement.

 

“Sword play, in its own right, is an art form, Archangel Haedriel.” They sighed, adding more strokes to the canvas adding to what I already thought was a perfect portrait of the landscape in front of us.

 

“You know who I am.” I sighed. Most Angels spoke to me with reverence or overly applied formality.

 

“If it helps,” they began, shining a trouble maker’s smirk on me. “I didn’t vote for you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a full and honest belly laugh.  They joined me in the laugh and introduced themselves. We talked there for hours, I learned that Damphrus had trained with the spear and small shield but hated it and was always much more fascinated by the beauty of the world. I learned that for the past six years he lived with a Cherub friend of theirs learning all they could about painting, about colour, depth and interpretation. We talked until my own guard came looking for me, thinking that the worst had happened, and I did the honourable thing, I escorted Damphrus back home myself gaining some looks from the Cherubim that saw me that would no doubt cause gossip.

 

Three years later we married, the ceremony was Nephilim with the formality and inscribing of the wrists but the celebrations afterwards was entirely Cherubim, never have I ever been so hungover as I was my first day of married life but thankfully for me neither was Damphrus.

 

Sorael came five years afterwards, they were a miracle in the eyes of our people; we had made them on our second attempt. It was said that a child born from the second try was to be more loved and more precious than any other, most likely because if a child wasn’t made in the first union of magic than the chance of it happening during the second was almost impossible, a third try usually killed either one parent or the other and never has there ever been a child made by the third union.

 

* * *

 

 

My home came into view in front of me, the estate was larger than I ever had wanted but it was beautiful. I made a loop around the garden, startling several birds that rested there, before landing on the balcony above.

 

“You’re home early.” Damphrus said from a nearby couch, a touch of worry in their voice.

 

“Siesah!.” A little voice yelled from the couch, the owner of which jumped off with tawny wings spread as they flew to me.

 

“Sorael.” I beamed, lifting my child into the air with an impossibly large smile on my face. “Look at what you just did, you’re flying like a pro.”

 

“Did I really?” They said, their amber eyes growing wide with joy.

 

“Of course. You should go run and find Master Yulus and tell them to give you some more advanced flying lessons.” I praised, putting them down and shooting a ‘we need to talk’ look to Damphrus, they had become such a skilled master at reading my looks that sometimes they knew what I was thinking when even I didn’t.

 

“Can’t you teach me?” Sorael pleaded.

 

“We’ll fly together once me and your Siesah have a word.” Damphrus said as they came to stand beside me. “Now run along, I think Master Yulus is in the west wing.”

 

Sorael made an excited squeal before running off. That’s when Damphrus turned his beautiful violet eyes on me, before they could say anything I pulled them into me kissing them with urgency. Damphrus leaned into the kiss, deepening it as they wrapped they’re pale arms around my ebony neck.

 

“I love you, I want you to know that.” I murmured against their lips.

 

“Haedriel, what’s wrong?” Damphrus demanded as they pulled away. “As much as I love when you kiss me like that you typically do it when something is seriously bothering you.”

 

“You like when I do that? I’ll have to remember that.” I said as I went for their neck.

 

“Haedriel.” Damphrus whispered, but it wasn’t a tender or pleased whisper, it was the opposite. I sighed deeply as I pulled away turning from them. I could feel their eyes one me, watching me with worry but I knew I couldn’t hide this from them.

 

“The Archangels elected Krysariel as Archon.” I stated, Damphrus gave a sympathetic groan. “Their first decree was to declare war on the other races.”

 

“No.” I felt the horror in Damphrus’s voice.

 

“I..I” I started, the words caught in my throat, how could I admit to my love that I had basically committed treason by disagreeing with the Paragon’s wishes.

 

“Haedriel, is ok.” They murmured, stroking my wing in comfort.

 

“I called the plan insanity and stormed out.”

 

There was a deafening silence, Damphrus knew what this meant and I could almost taste the fear that came from them.

 

“You’ll just have to make a formal apology.” Damphrus said with no emotion. I turned to look at them, I couldn’t believe that they’d ask me to do such a thing. I was stunned by the tears forming in their eyes and the blank expression on their face. Damphrus was petrified with fear.

 

“For you, I will.” I said with reluctance, kissing them lightly on the cheek.

 

“I’m going to see what Sorael is up too, by the gods that child probably didn’t even make it too Master Yulus.” Damphrus said with their usually mischievous joy. “Better get writing.”

 

I watched as Damphrus left before I left the room myself and entered my study across the hall. Books lined the walls, everything from Dwarven ballads to Elven research notes were on the shelves. I had barely read any of them but in time I vowed I would but now I had to write an apology and make it sound sincere.

 

* * *

 

By the time I finished the letter the sun had set and the moon was high in the sky. The letter barely sounded like I actually cared but hopefully the appeasement would be enough for Krysariel. I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and dull the head ache that was threatening to run rampant. I sighed with utter contempt as pushed the letter away, I would send one of my own guard to bring the letter directly to Krysariel.

 

The window behind me shattered, an arrow embedded itself an inch from my hand. I quickly leaped up from my chair and threw a magical ward behind me just in time for it to catch and incinerate another arrow. I dashed from my study, running into my room to fetch my sword when I heard the bangs of the mansions main door were broken open.

 

“Archangel, the estate is under attack!” One of my guard declared as he ran into my room.

 

“I’m aware of this.” I snapped at the obvious statement. “Are Damphrus and Sorael secure?”

 

The look on my guards face was all I needed, neither were safe.

 

I barrelled from my room, sword in hand and sped through the corridors cursing that they were not wide enough for my wings. My guard followed closely behind me, but he was quickly felled as two Seraphim round the corner, one held a bow but the arrow was lodged in my guard’s eye socket.  I darted forward, sending out a quick burst of lightning at the bow wielder as the other Seraphim advanced with a sword. I turned quickly as the sword went into a vertical slash, I counter with a swift cut to the Seraphim’s throat severing the head from the body. I stomped hard on the archer’s throat as I passed.

 

My blood chilled as I saw the entry way, the floor was littered with Nephilim corpses. I jumped from the second floor balcony and glided to the floor, I couldn’t believe the carnage nor that some of the Nephilim there were not of my house. I began to leave through a side passage when I saw them, Damphrus, pinned to the wall by a spear.

 

“No.” I breathed, Damphrus was dead, their golden blood pooled under their feet as those beautiful violet eyes stared off into the distance. I had to find Sorael, I had to find my child. I ran quickly through the corridor, trying to follow the sounds of combat.

 

“It’s the Archangel, kill them!”

 

“It’s the Archangel, to arms, defend them!”

 

Two sets of armoured figures bellowed, one composed of only Nephilim the other of several different Angelic races. I dove into battle next to my guard, fighting with all the rage I felt from my lover’s death. I slew many Angels in that skirmish, and in the end I was left with shallows cuts over my arms and torso.

 

“Where is Sorael?” I demanded.

 

“The moon garden with Master Yulus, a contingency of guard should be with them.” A guard responded, I couldn’t even bring myself to try and remember their name. I stormed through the halls with my guard closely behind. The moon garden was close and the sky light in its ceiling would allow for an easy escape.

 

“Why was Sorael not in his quarters, they should be asleep.” I roared.

 

“Master Damphrus allowed Sorael to stay awake to see the Moon roses open.”

 

I cursed under my breath, we were nearing the Arboretum and the halls were becoming more and more bloody.

“Archangel…” A voice coughed from a pile of corpses. The guards quickly pulled body after body away from the lone survivor.

 

“Its…it’s Master Yulus.” A guard said, my heart sank.

 

“Where is my child.” I whispered to the old flight master. Their silver eyes fading.

 

“The guards…they took them to…the garden.” They began. “We stayed to defend…Archangel, the Seraph is here.”

 

“I’ve seen the Seraphim.” I said, pulling away.

 

“No, _the_ Seraph.” Yulus muttered as death took them. “Krysar…”

 

“ _Krysariel._ ” I roared, rage clouding my vision in red. I sprinted to the garden, knocking the doors off their hinges with a burst of magick, and there with Sorael with a dagger through their heart. My guard charged passed me, defending my from Krysariel’s soldiers. I stared in disbelief as Krysariel pulled the knife from Sorael, I barely noticed as Sorael’s lifeless body fell to the floor.

 

“You brought this on yourself, Haedriel.” Krysariel yelled, some strange edge in _her_ voice. I saw my guard cut down and Krysariel’s soldiers advanced on me.

 

 _I need to live, I need to avenge them._ I thought, I steady my breath and channeled all the magick I could before releasing it in one great explosion around my body. The nearest Angels were knocked off their feet and flew through the air, the plants of the garden were incinerated and the sky light that let the moons silver glow in was shattered. Before any of my enemies could respond I took to the air and fled.

 

I don’t know which way I flew or even how long I flew for but when I landed the sun was already risen. I landed in a heavy crash, the weight of the night’s events crushing me but I could feel myself sobbing as I’ve never done before. My world was gone, my love and my son slain. All that was left for me was simple, cold and bloody revenge.


	2. Child of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm an idjit, I kept forgetting to upload my chapters, and then forgot I even posted this story after I hit a bout of writers block...so Hurray, 3 chapters in one night (if anyone is actually reading)

Tania  
The training field, a large walled off and flat stretch of dirt, was filled with the blunt metallic sound of dulled swords clashing in fevered attempts at combat. Combatants of all walks of life were here, all in different assortments of armour from bright shining plate to crude and dusty leathers. This year fifteen potentials fought to prove their prowess, a small group but this was not a proving for the simple City Guard but for the Imperial Guard to High King Alvus. This was the year I would finally be accepted.  
Every year I was the most skilled, the one left unbeaten and every year I was turned away. I was called a prodigy by ever master-at-arms and foreign teacher I had ever had; I surpassed even them, but no matter how skilled I was I was never accepted.  
  
“You there, fight with the two to your left since you’re the odd one out.” The Guard Captain commanded as I looked for a free combatant. I nodded in agreement, turning to my new opponents who looked irritated at me joining them and slightly bothered that I was the only potential with a full helm, only my amber eyes were visible behind the dark steel. One shining silver chainmail under a red tabard featuring an ox head the other wore dull chain under a simple bronze coloured breast plate. I pointed at both in turn, beckoning them to fight me together, I couldn’t help but smirk behind my helm as they smirked to each other.  
  
“Your funeral.” The bronze one said before he charged, I easily sidestepped him, bring my training sword down on his back and quickly raising my shield to block the sword of the ox. We exchanged blow after blow, I pushed him back with each blow.  
  
“Damn, you’re good.” He groaned, I heard the clink of armour behind me as the first potential tried to sneak in. I ducked avoiding his sword which struck his partner in the head. Without thought I flicked my wrist in a practiced motion, smacking his wrist first and then launching his sword away flat of my blade against the underside of his guard and disarmed the first potential before bring my sword to his throat.  
  
“I yield.” He breathed, without looking I point the tip of my blade at the second’s throat, his sword aloft.  
  
“I yield too, no way am I going to keep fighting you.” The bronze one laughed. “Might ask you for a couple lessons."  
  
“Giving up so quickly.” The lieutenant mocked. The shining silver armour of the Imperial Guard was polished to a reflective glow, but it did nothing to soften the vicious eyes of the Lieutenant. This was Patrek Mollis, son of Lord Haebar Mollis, and as rumor had it: the butcher of the north. Once a band of rebelling commoners had faced Sir Patrek, but as rumor went they faced him in their beds as his sword pierced the life from them.“I guess Castle trained knights and sell-swords just don’t cut it anymore.”  
  
“You fight him then.” The ox barked. The lieutenant let out an awful nasally laugh, as he gestured for a sword.  
  
“Alright potential, I hope you don’t mind bruises.” He snarked as if he could bruise me through my steel plate. The lieutenant and I circled each other like vultures examining a corpse, I could see a cold calculating mind behind his frigid blue eyes. He shot forward with a quick succession of blows, testing my defense and reaction. We circled again. I shot forward, throwing a reckless display of speed and strength, testing his reactions. We sprang at each other simultaneously, our swords clashed and sprang out with lethal fury. We danced a whirling dance of death, our sword rang with the music of war. We fought for what felt like an eternity before I caught him in the chest as he over extended a thrust. I caught him in the chest gaining a delicious crunching sound, that’s when he dropped his sword and grabbed my wrists. He tried to overpower me, and to his respect he was a strong man but I was far stronger. I began to walk, pushing him through the yard as if he were nothing.  
  
“Enough already, I’ve seen enough.” The Captain called as the lieutenant and I dropped our hands, he rubbed his now dented breast plate with a threatening glint in his eyes. “That was some of the finest swordsmanship I’ve seen potential, what’s your name?”  
  
The moment of truth had arrived.  
  
“It’s Tania.” I said ripping them helm off my head, shaking my fiery orange hair from my face. “Just like it’s been for the last five years.”  
  
The two potentials I fought looked as though I had sprouted a Dragons’ head, the bronze eyed me up and gave an appreciative tilt of the head after the brief shock left him.  
  
“She’s a girl!” The ox bellowed in disgust.  
  
“Yes, and I kicked your ass.” I snapped. “So, Captain Vosser, are you finally going to let me in the Imperial Guard.”  
  
I stood proud and defiant against Julius Vosser, Captain of the Imperial guard. He eyed me with his deep brown eyes, his brow crunching in either annoyance or thought. He rubbed down his face, from the black hair dashed with bits of white to the ghost of a beard attempting to sneaks its way back on to his face.  
  
“No.” He sighed. “The Imperial Guard is no place for a woman, like I’ve told you time and time again.”  
  
“Why the hell not.” I roared in anger. “I’ve beaten every recruit you’ve thrown at me. I even beat your Lieutenant.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say you beat me-“  
  
“I beat you and you know it.” I yelled.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tania, my decision is final.” Captain Vosser stated, his voice raising to cut through my anger. “Next time I’m going to have to get the City Guard to arrest you. If you’re so determined to swing a sword, be a mercenary, they take anyone.”  
  
I glared daggers into him. I would not be some sell-sword with little to no honour, I wanted to serve the people, to serve my king. I threw the helm at the Captain’s feet along with the sword and shield before unbuckling the padded leather armour I wore. I ripped the armour from me, tearing leather as I went, knowing that rumours would circle about the mere fact I was able to tear leather.  
  
“I’m taking this to the King.” I snarled as I stormed away from the training grounds clad only in light leather pants and a simple sleeveless tunic. It was probably an empty threat however, the king would more than likely laugh me out of the court than actually do anything, but I had to do something.  
  
I stormed down the winding gravel path that led from the training yard to the rest of the city, glaring at the path before me as I went. I had beaten two potentials, I had beaten the lieutenant, I had some of the finest swordsmanship that the Captain had ever seen and yet I was a woman which somehow made me wrong for any official position that involved weapons. I had tried to enlist for the military even, to even be just a common solider but the recruitment officer saw through my breasts bands and clumsily applied goatee.  
“Girl, you have that fierce beauty of lioness about to make a kill.” The officer had purred. “And your hair, like the burning orange of dusk.”  
  
“And your sickeningly flirtatious observations are for what, exactly? ” I snapped, knowing perfectly where he was going. Besides, who even talks like that?  
  
“Why, to maybe entice you to slip into my private chambers.” He murmured, trailing his hand up my arm. “A strong woman like yourself could make a great serving wench in the camps, but I might need some persuading.”  
  
I spend that night in guard house instead of his chambers, but he spent the night with four broken fingers and a bruised cock if it were possible.  
  
My mother always told me to keep my temper in check in those situations, I couldn’t stand being looked at as a piece of meat or be told in direct or indirect ways that I was inferior for being a woman. Women gave birth to men, they endure agonizing pain to do it too; Women even dealt with monthly pain and blood loss far more than any man.  
  
I could never hold back my anger though and it was just thankful my Grandfather was a particularly wealthy merchant to exchange coin with the right people to keep me from being in a jail cell for long periods of time or from forcing me to break out.  
  
I walked through the cities gate that divide the gravel path from the training yard of the Imperial guard and the rest of the city. The smells of baking bread, fresh flowers and the salty scent of sweaty bodies met me as I stepped through the gate and onto the grey stone path. The buildings on either side of me were lighter grey in colour with red tile on their rooves and in some places a window side garden. People parted as I walked, the scowl I wore no doubt scared them out of my path, and the rumours of and sight of bruised men probably helped as well.  
  
“Hey, Tania! Any luck with the Imperial Guard this year?” Mikken yelled to me, he was a tall gangly specimen of the bard’s academy who, in his ‘I try to hard’ way, was a charming young man. He was sat on the ledge of a large and gaudy water fountain as I entered the market square on the way to my home.  
  
“What do you think, Mikken?” I snapped, still angry at my dismissal. His smirk not doing anything to help. He stood before me, dressed in modest clothes befitting a bard apprentice, emerald tunic and brown woolen pants. He stared at me with his pale blue eyes filled with mischief and shook his woody brown hair from his face.  
  
“Oh, my gentle heart! If looks could killed I would surely be dead, but I’d be thankful my last sight was that of the most beautiful Angel in all the lands!” He exaggerated, clutching his heart and falling to his knees, his brassy skin standing out against the green of his tunic.  
  
“I am not an Angel.” I breathed with cold fury.  
  
“Forgive me, my savagely beautiful Tania.” He bowed in apology. “If Captain Vosser cannot see your worth, then I, Mikken Von Tula, will. Marry me, my beautiful Warrior Queen.”  
  
My laughter exploded from me, frightening several birds and gaining me several disproving looks from the various vendors and townsfolk nearby. Mikken gave me a playful wink, he had successfully calmed me down with his usual act of desperate, yet faked, devotion.  
  
“Oh! I am wounded so!” He cried, falling to his knees before me. “What will I do with my life without my Beloved?”  
  
“Beloved my ass, I know you’ve been tongue wrestling with the butchers boy.” I snarked at him in a low voice.  
  
“True, but man on man romance doesn’t go over well in most Human kingdoms, now do they.” He sassed, putting his arm around my shoulder. I chuckled heartily as I swung my arm around him and pulled him along with me as I continued my walk home, his arm draping over my shoulders as well.  
  
“Mum, keeps asking when you’re going to finish that ballad you promised her.” I commented after I stopped laughing.  
  
“Oh you know, it will be done when I get a chance to work on it instead of memorizing all the damn folk songs that have ever been written ever.” He sighed contemptuously. “I swear the academy wants all bards to be the same, no room for creative expression.”  
  
I had known Mikken since I was a little girl, I had saved him from bullies who weren’t too keen on his cocky story telling. We became fast friends after I left his bullies crying and bruised, he didn’t think being a girl meant I was weak and I didn’t pick on him for fawning over fabric.  
  
“So about the butcher’s son…” I started, giving him a significant and mischievous look.  
  
“He’s a good kisser, and man does he have a nice chest.” He fawned, not realizing that I could see a growing pain in his eyes. “Yep, found out he’s good behind closed doors too, if you know what I mean, and…he’s marrying Lyla Finch.”  
  
I shoved him into the nearest alley, and sat him on the nearest surface, before the tears left his eyes.  
  
“Sweet heart, I’m so sorry.” I said, giving him an awkward hug that pushed his forehead into my breast.  
  
“I thought, maybe he’d say no to his parents, that maybe he’d travel the world with me and go see the place where we don’t have to hide.” He cried, if I knew Mikken as well as I thought I did I knew that he had been keeping this in for a while. “I loved him, Tania, I really did love him.”  
  
I remember the day Mikken had told me he fancied men, he was terrified. His first week at the bard’s college had passed and he was shaking. I thought that he’d shake right out of his clothes that day as we sat on a hill overlooking the palace.  
  
“Tania.” He began. “I need to tell you something.”  
  
“You’ve decide your real dream is to run away and become a pirate?” I asked around a skin of cheap, strong wine.  
  
“No, this is serious.” He said in a flat voice that was lack his usual whimsy and charm. I put the wine down and looked at him with worry. I wondered then if maybe he got a girl pregnant or maybe he was sick. “I…I fancy…”  
  
“You fancy…me?” I asked with mild horror.  
  
“What? Gods no.” he barked, finally looking me in the eye. “I fancy men.”  
  
The silence dragged on for too long it seemed, like the world forgot how to make a noise.  
  
“Oh.” I breathed. He went to open his mouth, probably to beg me not to say a thing, but I burst in to rib cracking laughter. Deep down I knew. I began to suspect years before when a bunch of us in our teenage years went swimming in the river, all of us nude. Mikken had seen me completely naked and never reacted, but before he went in the water he looked at one of the other boys and his reaction was quick, almost too quick for him to sink into the water red faced.  
  
“Stop laughing I’m serious.” He yelled.  
  
“Mikken.” I gasped. “I knew, by all the fucking gods I knew.”  
  
That was barely two years ago.  
  
I held him to me, letting him cry away his pain or at least as much of it as he could. When his sobs became more like quiet gasps I lifted his head to look me in the eye. “Do you want me to beat him up?”  
  
Mikken gave a choked sort of laugh. “No, it’s ok. He was actually a perfect gentleman about it. He even teared up a little.”  
  
“Still, Lyla Finch?” I asked with mock disgust. “She’s so…”  
  
“Beautiful, sweet, caring and over all too nice to think of something insulting?” He finished.  
  
“Shit, you’re right.”  
“It’s a good match.” He sighed, wiping the remaining tears from his face. “Still, I hate that they’re going to have beautiful babies.”  
  
I shook my head at him and pulled him to his feet, but of course he was probably right.  
  
“I’m home.” I called as I pushed the door open the richly carved oak doors, Mikken steps behind me.  
  
“Lady Tania.” The raspy voice of Seh’va, the steward of my Grandfather’s estate, called from around the corner. She entered the entry hall, flattening her skirt with her speckled paw so very much like a leopard’s. “We weren’t expecting you for at least another hour.”  
  
“They rejected me quite a bit faster than normal this year.” I said through gritted teeth.  
  
“I don’t understand you Humans” She said shaking her feline head in annoyance. “In Savahara women fight just like men. Men are just louder about it.”  
  
“I can’t wait to see Savahara.” Mikken commented dreamily, his eyes shining. Savahara had been his dream since he learned about their acceptance of same sex couples. He tended to ignore the political upheaval their between the various Beastkind tribes and the human nobility that tried to rule.  
  
“Be careful of the swamplands. The beastkind there have little love for music.” She warned. “You may even be safer staying at in the capital of Gal, less fighting there.”  
  
Seh’va had been my Grandfather’s steward since before I was born, she had offer her services as a guide on his first trip to Savahara, a strange occurrence since even then the Beastkind, especially then grassland tribes, had great mistrust in humans. They developed a close friendship, one that was even shared by my prudish bitch of a grandmother, may she rest in peace.  
  
We made our way through the white marble halls, tapestries and paintings hung on the walls to blatantly declare my grandfather’s great wealth. Mikken chatted away to Seh’va about his classes, neither of us really listening.  
  
“Lord Calvin, Lady Erica: Lady Tania has returned with Mikken on her heel.” Seh’va announced to my Grandfather and Mother.  
  
“No, Lord Mikken for me?” Mikken asked with mock offense.  
  
“Make it big and we’ll talk.” Seh’va snorted, he tail twitching to show her mild amusement.  
  
“I’m guessing from the lack of armour and weaponry that you’ve yet again been turned away.” My Grandfather asked, his wrinkled and friendly face showed genuine disappointment. “I thought this would be the year, Erica. Seh’va, be a dear and send someone to reclaim the armour and weapon”  
  
“Of course.” She bowed, leaving the solar. Grandfather Calvin was still a powerfully built man, tall and broad with no trace of plumpness that was common of in the wealthy elite of the capital. He shared my mother’s grey blue eyes, though his had much more warmth and his blonde hair had long since disappeared leaving him balder than a new born babe.  
  
“I’ve told you, Dad, Tania is destined for greater things.” My Mother said with a smile. Her grey blue eyes had just the faintest hint of crinkling to show signs of aging, but she could have been lined as much as my Grandfather and still be beautiful with her slender form and curly blonde hair.  
  
“I hope your right.” I chimed with heavily laid sarcasm, plopping myself into their chair nearest my Grandfather. My Mother fixed an icy stare upon me, the look she gave when she knew I was planning something.  
  
“Good to see you again, Mikken.” My Grandfather beamed, as Mikken took the seat next to him.  
  
“And you as well, Lord Calvin.” Mikken responded, emphasising the title.  
  
“Pish, I’m no Lord, I’m just rich and the people just don’t have a title for that.” Grandfather laughed.  
  
“Don’t you mean the richest?” Mikken joked openly. In truth, Grandfather probably was the richest man in the country but he was not one to boast it with words.  
“Well I don’t know about that.” Grandfather laughed.  
  
“Yes, it is good to see you, Mikken. Although, I thought I said you weren’t allowed back here without that ballad you promised me and I don’t see your lute.” My Mother playfully sneered. “I’m sure one of the guards would have no problem throwing you out if I asked.”  
  
“My lady, you wound me! And here I was just about to ask your blessing for your daughter’s hand.” He pleaded, equally playful. I groaned and died a little inside.  
“Oh, yes I’m sure you want to marry Tania.” Mother quipped.  
  
“I’m going to petition the king to join the Imperial Guard.” I stated before Mikken could make his retort. The silence was deafening to me, I closed my eyes waiting for the persuasions not to do it.  
  
“I doubt the King would countermand Captain Vosser’s decision like that.” Mother stated.  
  
“I have to at least try, I can’t just sit around and play the Lady.” I snapped back. “Nor can I just take up the merchant trade like you did.”  
  
“There is nothing wrong with being a merchant.” Mother said, sitting up straighter with agitation. “It’s a sure bet safer than-”  
  
“Safer? How is fighting bandits, beasts and Gods know what else safer?” I demanded rising from my seat.  
  
“You know exactly why it’s safer.” Mother said, rising to meet me but with a pleading look in her eye. It had come back to the same reason: my Father. My Father had met my Mother when she was just a bit younger than I was now, they fell in love almost immediately the way she told the story. Father escort the caravan my Mother was in into Angelic lands, they bonded through the trip. Father was a fighter, like I am. The problem was that Father had ended up being killed by the Angels for breaking one of their laws while I was just a quickening in my Mother’s belly.  
  
“I won’t be killed like my Father.” I spat venomously.  
  
“All it takes is one slip, one.” She pleaded, angry tears in her eyes. “Tania, you aren’t invincible. Not even-”  
  
“My Lord, My Lady!” Seh’va yelled, running into the room and stopping my mother from finish her sentence. Her look though told me exactly what she’d say.  
“Seh’va, what is it, what’s wrong.” My Grandfather said, standing up concerned.  
  
“A messenger just came.” She panted, out of what looked like fear. “It’s the Angels.”  
  
I felt my mother grow a stiff as ice beside me as I felt anger burn in my chest.  
  
“What about the Angels?” I said with fire burning my chest.  
  
“They’ve declared War.” Seh’va gasped as the horror of her statement sunk in.


	3. Heart of the Village

** Thomas **

_Scarlet and Trystan crept up the mountain’s side, days and nights had passed since they tracked the Dragon Belgath to his lair. They climbed and climbed; Trystan in his shining silver plate and Scarlet in her crimson leathers. Up and up they went, and colder and colder the mountain grew._

_Finally our heroes reach the cliff bordering Belgath’s lair, and from within they heard the Dragon’s rumbling snores. Slowly they crept into his lair, step by step, inch by inch. Soon the light vanished from the cavern as Trystan and Scarlet went deeper and deeper into Belgath’s lair, but as they finally approached him a burning glow began to fill they chamber. Belgath was sleeping surrounded by lava._

“When I was little we didn’t get a lava filled cave.” I muttered in amusement at Granny Pickett’s story. She gave a side long glare filled with playful murder.

_“Belgath!” Trystan roared, raising his shield, Coldwall, and spear, Dragon’s Bane. “Your reign of terror is at an end! Prepare to die!”_

_“You think your little tooth pick is enough to stop me, tiny knight?” Belgath yawned. “Or are you hoping that the maiden beside you will somehow distract me?”_

_Trystan answer with a call “For King Andrew, and the people of Audren!”_

_Trystan’s shield kept the Dragon’s fiery breathe at bay as he charged plunging Dragon’s bane into Belgath’s foreleg. The Dragon gave a roar of pain, swiping his massive claw across the knight’s breastplate, rending a deep mark from one end to the other. Trystan did not stop, he jabbed and jabbed the scaly beast, blocking fire and dodging claw. Meanwhile our hero Scarlet silently stalked around the distracted Dragon._

_Trystan’s Dragon’s Bane was strong, but Scarlet possessed the legendary sword, Fae’Brand. A sword forged by Dwarves with dragon fire and enchanted by Fae folk. Not even the ancient magicks of dragonhide could withstand the shimmering edge of the blade. Scarlet drew the sword which gleamed a brilliant emerald hue and reflected the fiery orange of the lava around it._

“At least that never changes.” I remarked again. Granny gave a sideways look that threatened a good whack if I kept talking but it was true, Granny never changed a thing when it came to Fae'Brand.

_Scarlet leapt upon the great Dragon’s flank, carving a gash down his side that oozed bronze coloured blood.Belgath was furious and in his fury he swooped Trystan up in his jaws._

The children all gasped in horror, Granny had her usual amused look at scaring the young…although it was the same expression when she scared the older folks as well.

_The Dragon tossed Trystan aside as if he were a rag doll and turned his head to Scarlet with murder in his eyes._

_“You will pay for that.” He growled maliciously. Scarlet backed away in fear even as the flames consumed her body like dry straw._

_Little did Belgath know, Scarlet was a master of illusionary magick. Belgath never looked at the real Scarlet, for she had weaved her magick the second the Dragon had snatched up Trystan in his monstrous jaws. The second part of her magick shrouded her and Trystan from Belgath’s view._

_“I’m afraid I can no longer fight. “ Trystan wheezed, his breastplate was crushed and his spear arm was bent in the wrong place with blood trickling down its length._

_“Well they said no man could defeat Belgath.” Scarlet laughed, knowing her friend was not injured quite enough to die in the near future._

_“Then let a woman be the one to kill the beast.” Trystan coughed, handing her Coldwall. Scarlet turned to the now laughing Dragon, Fae’Brand in one hand and Coldwall in the other. She began to weave magick as she never had done before, suddenly the cavern was filled with dozens of Scarlets._

_“What is this sorcery!?” Belgath roared in annoyance, swiping his tail at the illusions, clawing them, and setting some aflame as the real Scarlet march to the Dragon, invisible to the eye._

_With one strong swing Scarlet opened the beasts belly, she jumped on the Dragon’s back and cut off both of his great wings._

_“No!” Belgath roared in fear as Scarlet raced up the Dragon’s back, her sword ready to plunge into the Dragon’s-_

I burst out laughing, this was a new addition and more wild then anything she had come up with before. The children jumped at my outburst, not expecting the sudden distraction from the story.

“Thomas, you little shit, you ruined the best part.” Granny Pickett laughed. That was Granny’s way, her horribly wrinkled self would swear up a storm, threaten and sometimes make good on the threats. She was the oldest person in my village at the ripe old age of one hundred and twelve, and she still chased people that were dumb enough to annoy her with her cane. “Ok, off you run, it time for your parents to look after you.”

The kids groaned in protest but didn’t argue. I shook my head as Granny gave me an amused look that scared the hell out of me.

“Didn’t like the new addition, did you?” Granny asked, hobbling towards me with the same amused look.

“It was a little much.” I said hesitantly, eyeing her cane with fear.

Whack.

“Serves you right, you little shit.” She chuckled. It wasn’t a hard hit and I laughed with her…you got use to Granny Pickett’s violent ways because she really did use it as a form of affection.

Granny and I walked around the village square, her preferred storytelling spot was on a small bench in front of the shrine to the harvest Goddess Mythra.  It wasn’t much to look at really, the shrine had three walls covered in grape vines and few planks for a roof that covered just enough to let the rain to drip on the altar. The town square its self was just the water well with a bit of grass and a lot of dirt surrounding it and a buildings like the general store and a few homes, but it was that familiar land mark of home. Granny babbled as we walked, telling me how she needed to make the stories more and more crazy to keep the ‘little brats’ entertained. Said brats ran past us, not a care in the world.

“Look at them, they've already forgotten the story.” She groaned. “People use to hang on my every word when I first started telling the story.”

“That was like, what? A century ago.” I asked in amusement as one of the children declared he was Belgath...It made me fondly remember my care free days playing dragons and knights.

“Hmf, pretty much.” She snorted. “Didn't anyone tell you it's not proper to mention a Ladies age?”

“You haven't been a Lady in half a century.” I laughed. Granny stopped suddenly and shivered as if she had a chill. The day was beautiful, cloudless and warm with only a hint of a breeze that smelled strongly of grass and that strange scent that seemed to connect to sunshine.

“Troubles coming Thomas, I can feel it in my bones and I learned long ago to trust those feelings” Granny murmured gravely.

“What trouble could our village possible get beyond a bandit raid?” I asked perplexed, since Granny rarely worried about anything and that included bandit raids.

“I don’t know, I’m just an old woman not some fortune telling spinster.” She snorted. “Just get about your business, I’m sure your father gave you a list of things to do around the village.”

I groaned internally, Granny Pickett was always right where my father was concerned. See, my father was kind of like the Mayor except our village is run by a council of elder Villagers but typically my father was the one that made the decisions. Since I was his son I got to run around doing the odd jobs people mention to him in passing, and if they weren’t done in his thought up time frame then I wasn’t trying hard enough.

I dashed across the square, leaving a cackling Granny behind me, and set off for Eric the Blacksmith who apparently was having problems with his roof. I waved a greeting the big and burly man, he waved his hammer in greeting and pointed to a ladder propped against the side of his house a few meters from the forge. Obviously my father already informed him that I was on my way.

The roof looked like it was balding, the thatch that covered the narrow wooden beams had blown away over the rainy season giving it a patchy quality. I took a deep breath and began hauling bits of thatch from behind Eric’s house on to the roof **.** I grabbed the first bundle of straw to thatch the roof and climbed the ladder one handed. Slowly I spread the bundle out, making sure that it was even. It needed to be right, or I'd never hear the end of it.

“What you doin' Tam?” Eric's son Colin asked. I looked down at him, with a smirk.

“Putting your roof back up.” I called down with a friendly smile. “Have you been trying to do air magick?”

“No!” He giggled childlike. Colin was eight years my senior but acted like a young child. He was born slower than most, the town herbalist who doubled as our healer-aka Mom- said he'd never function like a normal person, but Colin was sweet guy with a nice thing to say and a helping hand when ever he was around so what really was normal?

“Want to help me out?” I asked, knowing he would and knowing he'd like it.

“Ya!” He cheered, grabbing a bundle of straw and racing up the ladder. I showed him how to lay out the straw and he went right to work. He didn't do the perfect job but he was so excited and proud that he was fixing his house.

“You did a better job than I did.” I exclaimed, giving him a pat on the back. He beamed as I said good bye, but I frowned when I looked away...It wasn't the best thatching, it wasn't awful, but it would definitely get some major criticism from my father.

After leaving Eric’s house I dashed further down the lane to the Tulsberry farm. Joan and Malcom Tulsberry were sweet people and as such produced some of the sweetest strawberries around they even shipped them into the capital city of Summer Heart. Of course my father had offered my services to help plow their fields among many other things. Malcom greeted me at the gate, Joan waving from the porch rubbing her stomach tenderly.

“Joan’s pregnant?” I asked with joyous shock since the couple were reaching up in to their forties and had yet to have the child they so desperately wanted.

“You didn’t hear? Baby Gideon or Hestia should be here in about six months.” He beamed. I congratulated him and waved happily to Joan.

Malcom and I plowed the fields for several hours, it was exhausting work. The hoe was old but thankfully the ground was still mildly loose. I whacked the ground, digging up the soil so the seeds could be planted. The work was easy, and I easily got lost in thought as my body went through the process. I thought about life, love and all the other things my twenty year old mind could come up with.

Life made me wonder what I wanted to do. My father was a builder in his youth and now basically ran the town, but I had no interest in building or the running the place either. Love, that was easy, I knew all the girls around my age in the village. I grew up with them, and no matter how hard my father tried to arrange a match I just couldn't do a relationship with any of them, they were more like sister's to me. Plus there was that one girl in Summer Heart with golden hair and eyes as blue as the sky that said she'd be mine...for three silver pieces. My father never learned where my silver disappeared to on our trip to Summer Heart.

The rest of my thoughts were just random things like: how did magick work? Were Dragon's really wise protectors or were they actually all mad like Belgath? What would happen if I chicken and a duck had a baby?

“I think that's all for the day, Thomas.” Malcom called from across the field.  I walked back to his shed, sweat dripping from my skin, and put the hoe away.

“I'll come by tomorrow and help you finish up.” I huffed, I didn't realize how drain I was. Malcom protest a bit, saying I didn't have to that I was sure to be busy but eventually relent with a grateful smile before I left.

I walked back to the village square, thoroughly enjoying the breeze that was cooling as the sun set.

“I’m home.” I called into the house as I stepped inside, breathing in the smell of my mom’s medicinal herbs and the rich aroma of roasting meat further in. “Something smells good.”

“Just a roast chicken, nothing special.” My mom said with a smile, turning to me.

“Did you hear that Joan and Malcom Tulsberry were having a baby?” I asked my mom, ignoring the not so subtle throat clearing from the kitchen table.

“So you spent your day gossiping with the Tulsberrys, eh?” My father, Brandon Oliver asked with obvious annoyance.

“No, I spent the day thatching Eric’s roof and then spent the rest of the day plowing the Tulsberry's field.” I snapped.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, I know you stopped in the square to listen to Granny Pickett’s wild stories.” He said in an even tone, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “And I wouldn't call that job you did on Eric's roof thatching.”

“I took a ten minute break before I went to Eric’s, I didn’t think it would be a problem.” I retorted. “And Colin helped me with his Dad's roof”

“Why by the gods would you let the disturbed boy touch anything?” He demanded.

“Don't call Colin disturbed.” I growled, I could not stand when people acted like he was some kind of monster or mad man.

“That boy isn't right, Thomas. The bottom line is-“

“Brandon, I’m sure he-” my mother began.

“No, Mary. The bottom line is that he was supposed to help Ms Leary with her Chickens as well, and Endrew Curson was waiting for him all day to help fix his cart, he needs to take responsibility for his actions.” My father barked.

“I had no time to help them, I literally just ran home from the Tulsberry’s fields. When the hell did I have time to deal with those stupid chickens or fix acart?” I demanded with a roar.

“Thomas Wilfrid Oliver, you are twenty years old and you’ve done nothing with your life!” My father bellowed, each word feeling like an actual blow. “I’ve given you work and yet you complain and come up with excuses. If you had focused on doing your work you could have gotten everything done, but no, you slacked off.”

“I did my best.” I whispered, feeling like a failure.

“I expected better from you.”

I stared blankly at his disappointed expression, I felt my insides seethe and burn with rage. Before I really knew it I was out the door and into the night, heading towards the forest with the sun slowly lowering in the sky and my mother calling me back.

“Maybe if I had some spare time I could actually figure out what I want to do, and maybe even start my own family!” I yelled in the darkening woods. I cursed, and cursed and for the fun of it cursed a little more. It was unfair, I had all these arguments, all these fantastic points as to why my father was wrong but in front of him I was felt like a failure, like I really was useless.

I picked up a random stick on the ground and swung it at the trees.

I wanted to be a Knight.

_How can you be a Knight? Am I supposed to buy you a sword? What about training? You’ll never be a Knight so just forget it._ My father had said.

I wanted to join the army.

_How could you even think of putting us through that? We’d never sleep a day because of worry. Don’t be so selfish_

I wanted to be a Blacksmith.

_Start a Blacksmith apprenticeship at your age? Thomas, you have to be more realistic._

I don’t know what I want to be.

_You’ve had your whole life to think about what you want to be and you wasted it on childish fantasies._

I felt a tugging in my stomach, a fiery burn that I always felt when I was enraged. I kept it down as best I could.

“I hate you!” I screamed into the night failing to keep all my rage in, just as I felt the earth tilt under my feet and I rolled down a steep cliff I hadn't realized was there.

I woke up with an absolutely pounding headache. I raised my hand to my head and felt a slightly sticky bump, it didn’t hurt much but mom mentioned that head injuries bleed a lot.

I groaned as I lifted my aching body off the ground, I was at the bottom of a steep and rocky hill. The lucky part of my night was the cloudlessness of the night which helped me climb back up the hill. I slipped and scraped my way up, resting every few feet. I finally reached the top and laid back on the forest floor, the moon was high in the sky. I stared at the night sky, watching a flock of large birds fly over the forest.

“You guys are flying awfully late.” I murmured. I couldn’t quite make them out from their shadows in the moonlight, and they were too far up to see them plainly but they were very very big birds. Could they be the giant mountain eagles? Or maybe they weren’t birds at all but Dragons? Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

I pulled myself up and began walking home in the darkness. The forest path was, thankfully, well-worn and easy to follow even in the dark but the forest still had an eerie look to it and I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling I had.

Then I realized what was wrong, in front of me in the direction of the village was an orange glow. I ran the rest of the path, the glow getting bigger with every step. I burst from the forest and stared at the flames engulfing my village.

_Bandits, it had to have been Bandits. Bandits would have left some people unharmed._ I ran to the village, desperately hoping to see someone but the lack of screams, yelling or any noise unnerved me. My foot caught on something and I went sprawling in the grass. I had tripped on a child. The same child who declared he was Belgath.

William? Timothy? I didn’t know the boy’s name and now he was lying on the grass with slightless eyes and deep gash that spilled his entrails out across his belly. I stopped myself from retching and continued on, screaming for survivors but now I saw all the bodies. Everywhere were bodies and fire, someone in pools of blood, others with strange arrows in them.

 I turned around in a circle, looking at the houses that lined the village square. Chard remains, a headless corpse that could have been Colin or Eric. A man was pinned against the General store by a javelin, his face was unrecognizable and a pitch fork lay before him half in a puddle of blood. A woman's body lay near the now destroyed shrine, he head dented in so much the bone of her skull split the skin and squishy grey something spattered her hair.

There was my home, burning and on a beam that the flames had just begun to eat was my father with an arrow through his eye.

“No.” I choked, running to him. He was dead, I felt ashamed that I had hoped otherwise in the wake of all the bodies. I couldn’t look see through the fires no matter how hard I tried to get close,  I couldn’t see my mother’s body.. I couldn't, I couldn't.

Then the arrow caught my eye, it was metal with strange writing.

_Pure metal? How could any bandit fire this?_

“Thomas?” A weak voice called from the well. I ran towards the voice, searching for that familiar old voice.

“Granny? Granny Pickett, where are you?” I called desperately. To my right I saw a space near the well bubble. Not the well itself but the air seemed to swell like a bubble before it burst, revealing the huddled mass of Granny Pickett.

“Dammit, it’s been far too long. I couldn’t save anyone.” She rambled to herself, I swore a faint glow faded from her hands

“Granny…was that just…magick?” I heard myself say, it was another shock I had to process.

“Of course it was, quickly, help me up we need to get out of here before the Angels come back.” She said, reaching out to me.

“Angels?” I asked utterly confused. I helped her up and let her hold my arm for support, she instantly took the chance to start pulling me with her.

“You heard me right, this was the work of Angels. I don’t know why they attacked us and I’m too old to find out.” She said pulling me further into the village.

“We need to leave, why are we going further into the village?” I asked.

“You need my old sword. I’m too old to swing it and it’s a long way to the capital.” She breathed. Her sword? Since when did Granny have a sword? And since when could she use magick? She pushed open her door and murmured words I couldn’t understand. At the foot of her bed the air shimmered and bubbled before melting away to reveal a long thing chest. She gestured for me to open it while she got another cane for herself.

Inside the chest was indeed a sword. A narrow bladed sword with a single curving edge that connected with a guard that looked like vines. The blade itself was a strange metallic green…I knew this sword.

“Fae’brand.” I breathed.

“Passed down to me by my father…never wanted kids of my own, figured I might pass it on to one of Trystan’s kids but lost touch with his lot.” She snorted. “Would end up with some distant cousin's if I died with out passing it on.”

“Your Scarlet…You’re the hero that defeated Begath the Mad.”

“Once upon a time I was, but it’s not important now. Strap that sword to your belt already.” She snapped with impatient. I did as she said and moved out into the night with her hobbling at my side.

We travelled until the sun began to raise, and then we travelled some more. It was a silent journey, and a lot of the time I carried Granny, no Scarlet, on my back. Finally I couldn’t keep going and lead us off the main road to a large tree with roots bursting from the ground for shelter.

Granny weaved her hands back and forth, the air around our rooted hide away shimmered and twisted.

“There, that should keep us hidden if I did it right.” She sighed, sitting down on the dirt. “Then again it’s been about eighty years since I did any magick.”

I stayed silent. Granny was really the hero Scarlet. I had the legendary sword Fae’Brand at my hip and my village had been massacred. I couldn’t feel, I wanted to yell to scream but I also didn’t know why. _It happened, now move on_ part of me thought but it felt like there was some kind of wall inside of me keeping everything out. The fiery burn in my stomach felt dulled, like the rage wasn’t my own.

“You lied to us, all these years.” I suddenly snapped.

“No I never.” Granny said calmly.

“You never told us you were Scarlet.” I snapped again.

“Did anyone ever think to ask me what my first name was?” She said almost soothingly. “My first name isn’t Granny, I’m not even a grandmother. My name is Scarlet Pickett, always has been.”

“That’s a cheap answer.”

“And what would everyone knowing my name have done?” She asked, raising her eyebrow. “I gave up magick shortly after I killed Belgath, and an old woman alone could not stop the Angels. I’m old Thomas, there was nothing I could have done and nothing you could have done either.”

That made my eyes water, I felt a bit of the wall chip away and my eyes watered.

“How could this have happened? What do I do now? How do I go on feeling this way?” I cried, feeling the tears flowing from me.

“Death happens Thomas, sometimes its sudden, sometimes you know it’s coming but the fact is that death always happens.” Granny said. “We move on, as hard as that sounds, we move on. We remember everyone and hold them in our heart to remind ourselves that life happens as well as death. We go on with our hurt because eventually it dies down.”

I wanted to argue, I wanted to tell her she was wrong. The wall softened, and I felt how right she was but I still wanted her to be wrong.

 “Remember the stories I’ve told, the stories of the five heroes?” She continued. “Me, Trystan the knight, Belik the dwarf, Lucinda Stormbringer, and Ledlee the thief. Trystan, Belik and Ledlee are all dead, my best friends are dead and I’ve watched the villagers die over and over again. We go on because we must.”

I stared down at my hands, I wasn’t sure if Granny’s speech helped at all but I let them sinking in.

I knew my journey was nowhere near over.

 


	4. Court and Warnings

** Tania **

 

The dressed burned my very soul. It was a loose turquoise monster with a plunging, yet some how modest neck covered in lace and drooping quarter sleeves, complete with a butterfly shaped brooch my father had given to my mother many years ago. I smoothed the skirt down for the hundredth time. The great hall was a buzz of gossip, boasting and the staccato clicking of heels on the polished marble floors of the palace. This wasn't just any castle, this was Summer Heart, the palace of the Summerborne Empire. It was a monument to an empire that had last for over a millennium, and over those years a great deal of wealth had been put into its’ creation.

 

Centuries ago a young knight named Bryden Summerborne gathered a great army and conquered the continent of Audren. Of course history fudges things and make everything seem happy and perfect, but legends from all provinces said that King Byden was a kind man and a great leader having brought many old kings under his banner with only words. Sadly, the Summerborne line ended with King Andrew who married his daughter and heir to the slayer of the mad dragon Belgath, Trystan Gallynt. Now King Alvis Gallynt ruled Audren with the help of all the high lords and lesser nobility.

 

I gazed around the hall in discomfort, a dress would not serve my purpose at all but mother had insisted, proper attire and all that rubbish. Today, three of the great houses were in attendance: House Corinth of Corinth, House Whistler of the Stone hearth and the Gallynt's of Goldfield, cousins to the King. Each great house, save for Gallynt, were once the houses of Kings before the conquest. Their banners were proudly hung on the walls to mark their attendance. The Corinth mountain and star, Silver and grey on a maroon field. The Whistler burning orb, a white orb in a flame of green on a field of midnight blue. Then the lesser Gallynt line, a golden yellow four leaf clover on a pale green field. The three were dwarfed by the two massive banners that hung about the door way leading into the throne room. The royal Gallynt's banner and the Summerborne Banner, now used as the symbol of the empire, instead of a house banner; a very recent change brought on by our current regent. The former was a golden crown with four golden clovers surrounding it on an emerald field tasselled with golden cloth and mother of pearl. The other was a red heart with a crown of vines and flowers on an azure field trimmed in gold cloth.

 

I sighed with impatience, the sooner I could plead my case, the soon I could be free of the torture device called ‘a dress’.

 

“Growing tired of waiting, Tania?” A soft voice chimed behind me. I turned and gave a respectful smile to the woman behind me.

 

“A little, Princess Fortuna.” I admitted with a respectful yet awkward curtsy. “How are you, Princess.”

 

Princess Fortuna giggled softly, she was taller than me by at least a foot, her jaw squared and awkward like the rest of her body and her ash blonde hair fell passed her shoulders limp and quite thin. Her eyes though were marvellously beautiful; the blindness she was born with gave her pale blue eyes a crystal like quality.

 

“I am well, Lady Goldsworthy.” She giggled again flashing a truly stunning smile.

 

“Please, Princess, just call me Tania.” I asked her again, as I had every time before.

 

“As I've said before, I will call you Lady Goldsworthy every time you act so formal with me.” She chided, making a mock display at being cross. “You are the only person I know that doesn't treat me as some half-witted child made of glass.”

 

She was probably right. The three Princesses were all born cursed: Fortuna was blind, Victoria could not walk at all, and Desirae...it was said she still acted as an infant or toddler even though she would be thirteen now, but no one had actually seen Princess Desirae in years.

 

“My mother has drilled court courtesies into my head.” I sighed as way of apology. “It's an instinct for me to be formal towards you.”

 

“Ah yes, the true Lady Goldsworthy.” Fortuna stated in amusement, my mother was known to be somewhat of an ice queen, having been my grandfather’s representative at court when the need arose. Fortuna took my arm and began walking around the hall aimlessly.

 

“I've always wondered, how is it you know it's me and know where you’re going?” I asked bluntly. Fortuna chuckled as a look of thought settled on her face.

 

“I guess...I hear you and where I'm going.” She said softly, only loud enough for me to hear.

 

“You hear?” I asked.

 

“It's hard to explain...I don't even know if I can begin to explain it.” She smiled sadly. I glanced at the woman beside me, she was two years younger but somehow her sightless eyes were filled with a weariness far beyond her years. I was actually taken aback at the sorrow in her eyes as well. I was indeed friendly with the Crown Princess but truly I had no idea of her day to day life, especially since she very rarely was allowed to leave the castle.

 

In honesty before my first time in court I only knew about her life through rumours. Stories about the poor health and helplessness of the princesses. It was with mild shock that I had first seen the princess climbing a tree in the castle gardens as my mother negotiated a contract to supply the palace's kitchens directly instead of the castle having to collect supplies from farms themselves. Fortuna was waving her hands wildly above her head as she stood by a tree, she managed to get to the lower branches before a guard escorted her back to her matron.

 

“His royal highness: King Alvis of house Gallynt, Emperor of Audren and the Summerborne Empire, will now hear petitions to the throne.” The herald called, breaking through the murmurs that filled the room. People began to make their way through the overly ornate doors that separate the great hall from the throne room.

 

“I best be going then.” Princess Fortuna sighed. “Father doesn’t like me at court.”

 

“But you’re the heir.” I snapped in disgust. Fortuna simply sighed again and shrugged before walking confidently from the hall. I made my way in to the hall, giving my name and request to the court herald so he could announce me properly.

 

As usual, my breath caught in my throat at the sight of the courtroom. This wasn’t just a grand stone hall, the floors were hundreds of thousands of stone tiles depicting the whole of Audren, great columns rose up to a glass ceiling of Elven make which made it both extremely strong and brightly coloured to depict the creation of Aeellum, our world. The most wondrous things though were the many gardens, each column was covered in vines and at their base many coloured flowers let off their perfume into the hall while flowering vines climbed the walls, and the great steps that led to the throne were set between great batches of roses. At the top of these steps should have been the briar throne, a throne grown from dozens of different plants and sculpted by magick, but instead was a wide lavish chair with what looked like the Palace’s supply of cushions stuffed under and around a fat blob of a man that should really be described in a more respectful way.

 

“All kneel before King Alvis of house Gallynt, first of his name. Lord of Summerheart, Emperor of the Summerborne Empire.” The herald cried. I knelt as everyone else had.

 

“Arise my people.” The king chimed in a flamboyant voice filled with amusement. Before him, at the foot of the rose steps, were the current advisors to the throne. Sebastian Whistler, Lord of the Stone hearth sat regally at one end of the table looking over the crowd with eyes as silver as his hair. On his left sat Fredrick Gallynt, the king’s cousin and Lord of Goldclover, a pocked marked man who looked like a much much thinner version of the King. In the centre sat the Royal Advisor, Arnan Psaila, a man justifiably renowned as Audren’s most eligible bachelor. Not only was he the heir to Claw island and the Azure Coast he was truly a remarkable diplomat and political power; not to mention one very attractive man with his shoulder length, dark, wavy hair, narrow aristocratic nose, high cheek bones and warm coppery skin. On his left sat Antony Corinth, young for court and possessing a regal air as the nobles tend to do when faced with exceeding wealth, he was an odd addition to the council as tradition usually had heads of a house on a council (the exception being those that are unable to travel, such as the case with Salvatore Psaila who suffered an injury that left him unable to travel for long periods of time), in fact Antony was not even the heir to Corinth, his sister was as House Corinth was a matriarchal house. The king, as rumor has it, does not acknowledge their tradition and openly speaks not only of Antony succeeding his mother but being the actual head of the house since his father had passed. The final member of the council was the high priest of Hesdon, the God of prosperity and government. I don’t know a lot about the high priest except that he is roughly the kings age and an old friend of the king, which makes everyone wonder how the former acolyte had jumped all the way to high priest.

 

“So many have come today. I can already feel myself straining under the work.” The King chuckled, we all followed as is expected.

 

“Bring forth the first petition.” Advisor Psaila called in his smooth accented voice. The herald cried a name, a man stepped forward and asked for aid against bandits who stole his sheep and burned his crop. A small contingency of guards was to be dispatched to deal with them. The next man came, asked for a petty lord to honour an ancient bill of loan he had found in an old ruin once belonging to his family. The bill of loan, as it turns out, was faked and dated some fifty years before the petty lord’s family had been established as lords. More and more petitions came and went, most were dull, usually a case of they did this and I want this because of this. I had expected at least one person to ask for protection now that the Angel’s had declared war but I was disappointed.

 

“Tania, of House Goldsworthy.” I jumped at my name, having been soundly tuning out the rabble.

 

“Young lady Goldsworthy.” The King chimed. “You know I think it’s wonderful your Grandfather lets you use the family name even though your Mother was not wed.”

 

The crowd snickered.

 

“I beg your pardon your Grace, my Mother and Father were wed in accordance to my Father’s custom. My Grandfather was present during the ceremony and found it suitable enough to consider my parents truly married.” I retorted with all the curtsy I could muster.

 

“Splendid then, I would have been loathed to listen to a bastard’s petition.” The King said with a slightly concealed sneer.

 

“State your petition, if you’d please.” Lord Whistler asked with a fatherly smile. I begrudgingly curtsied to the King and council.

 

“Your Grace for five years I have tried to become a part of your Imperial Guard but-”

 

“A woman on my Guard?” The King squawked. “The trial alone would prove that folly.”

 

“As I was about to say, Your Grace, despite beating every potential I have been denied. I even matched Lieutenant Mollis, and Captain Vosser even said I was the finest swordsman he had seen.”

 

“Impossible.” The King snapped. A guard walked around the edge of the hall and whispered in Captain Vosser’s ear, who stood off to a corner in a place where he could easily get to the King but few could see him. He nodded at the guard who quickly left, I focused on the interaction rather than listen to the King rave about how a woman could never do as I had said.

 

“If I may your Grace?” Captain Vosser called. The King looked at him in shock but still managed a shaky gesture for Vosser to come forward. “Tania has done exactly as she has said, given the chance she probably could have killed Lieutenant Mollis and may even match me in single combat.”

 

I stared at the Captain in absolutely shock, for a man who denied me every time to say such things…I can’t even explain the level of pride and confusion I was feeling. I barely even noticed the sound of the throne room doors opening and closing.

 

“Yet I have denied her each time because, as you have said, the Imperial Guard is no place for a woman.” The Captain finished.

 

“Your Grace, if she is as skilled as the Captain says I would strongly suggest at least consider having her as an Imperial Guard, even if just to guard the Princesses.” Advisor Psaila said, turning to face the King.

 

“Out of the question!” The King scoffed. “I will not let my daughters be protected by someone who will probably flee at the first sight of blood.”

 

I bit my tongue, hard.

 

“Young lady, you should focus on finding a husband. With your Grandfather’s wealth I’m sure he could find you a match with even some levels of the nobility.” The King declared shaking a fat, blubbery sausage of a finger at me.

 

“Your Grace if that is what I must do to join your Imperial Guard I will.” I said, my eyes lingering on Arnan Psaila only for a moment.

 

“Enough of this nonsense!” The King roared. “If there are to be no further petitions-”

 

“Actually, your Grace, we have one.” Captain Vosser said, beckoning to someone behind me. A guard whispered quickly in the Herald’s ear who’s went wide with excitement, I turned and saw two people coming forward: An old woman with a subtle air of power around her and thin white hair, and a tall slightly thin young man with a strong jaw, slightly curly brown hair and chestnut eyes that looked haunted.

 

“Thomas Crafter of the Village of Twinfields and Scarlet Pickett, Champion of Summer Heart, Slayer of Belgath and God-Mother of our late King Marcus, Son of King Trystan.”

 

 _No way._ I thought, excitement bubbling inside me. _The young guy has a sword, it was impossible, it couldn’t be but it looked just like the stories had said. The woman, she looks old, Scarlet would be old and Scarlet was a mage, her magick would have extended her life span. No, it couldn’t be, but, yes, that sword does look exactly like Fae’Brand._

The throne room buzzed with interest, Scarlet hadn’t been seen in eighty years but no story had ever been heard that she had died. It was also well known that she was a trained mage which, with the constant flow of magic she would have had, her life span would have been extended as it does for all magick users.

 

“Truly? _You_ are the famed Scarlet?” The King asked with much sarcasm dripping from his puffy lips. His beady watery eyes bore into the old woman like his mere presence would reveal deception.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, young man.” She snapped back.

 

_Definitely the famed tact Scarlet had with the aristocracy._

 

“How can we be sure?” The king stammered, clearly in shock at being talked to with so little respect.

 

“I can give you stories of King Marcus that only the diaries in the royal library would have. Mind you the little runt was only a prince in most of these stories. I could also recount exactly where Coldwall and Dragon’s bane are in this gaudy place since I put enchantments around them to keep prying eyes away from them.” The old woman quipped. “I also have the rumored birth mark that looks like a snake, but I doubt anyone wants to have a look at my saggy backside. If you want proof look at the sword Thomas is carrying. Send one of your guards to hold it if you must, wouldn’t want anyone to start screaming about assassination plots since I already see some people eyeing it all fearful like.”

 

The man, Thomas, drew the sword and stared at it himself for a while, shadows of some past horror seemed to fill him before Captain Vosser held out his hand for the sword. He turned the sword in every direction, tracing patterns on the blade and hilt, closely eying various parts of the sword, all the while his face became more and more awed.

 

“This is indeed the sword of Scarlet. It matches Fae’Brand’s description exactly.” He exclaimed with true wonder and shock. The old woman had to be Scarlet.

 

“The sword could have been taken from Scarlet.” The king scoffed.

 

“Forgive me your Grace, it could not. The enchantments on the sword would never allow it.” Advisor Psaila responded.

 

“Then a fake. I hardly believe a woman over a century old would just suddenly turn up in my throne room.” The King snapped.

 

“Oh by Ventra. Get the copies of the Royal decree making me the Champion of Summer Heart. Theirs a phrase on there I can say in just this situation to identify myself; I thought Trystan was an idiot for suggesting that it should even exist but now I see he was seeing some kind of sense.” Scarlet fumed. The King reluctantly gestured for a guard to fetch the document. I was honestly baffled that the King was showing so much reluctance to believe this was Scarlet, the woman saved the Heartlands from Belgath’s tyranny.

 

“In the meantime, I believe it would be best to hear whatever case you bring before the King and council.” Lord Gallynt sneered.

 

“You’re definitely one of Cedric’s descendants…you got his pimples and ugly lips.” Scarlet snorted. “Thomas can tell you what happened.”

 

Scarlet looked at her companion, he looked shocked that she was making him say whatever it was but she whispered something to him with a softness in her eyes that look almost like pity. From the sidelines where I stood I couldn’t hear a thing but whatever it was seemed to help Thomas, he took a deep breath and step towards the council.

 

“My village is no more.” He said in a flat voice. “Twinfields was massacred, every man, woman and child butchered save for Granny-I mean Scarlet and myself.”

 

Many people gasped, and soon the room was again a buzz of talks and murmurs.

 

“Enough, there is to be silence!” Advisor Psaila called in a commanding voice. “Who has done this? Please, tell us what happened.”

 

“I…I never saw the butchery happen. I had been in the forest near my village but I could see the glow of the flames. I ran to them, I thought that someone had to be alive. So much blood.” Thomas said in a soft voice, tears falling down his face. “Everyone was dead…bodies mutilated. Scarlet hid herself under some kind of illusion…she said…she said Angels had done it.”

 

Again the crowd gasped and talked, but much louder than before and with much more fear than before. I stood in horror myself, I knew the Angels had declared war but I never knew they had made their first attack and Twinfields was not far from Summer Heart.

 

“Aye, I saw the whole thing.” Scarlet stated, sorrow filling her words. She stood as tall as her old bent bones would allow, and looked out at everyone with fire in her eyes. “The Angels swooped down from the sky, their archers targeted anyone who was wandering around that looked like they could give half a fight. I called my old magicks to me and shrouded myself from their vision. If they cared I knew they could have found me but they just wanted the slaughter to be done. They burned houses with their magicks and cut down any who fled. I saw them butcher children with out hesitation or remorse.”

 

The hall roared in outrage. Calls were made for retribution, surrender, or just absolute horror.

 

“I had hoped that glowing thing was just some terrible joke when it said the Angel’s declared war.” A terrified Lord whispered to his steward behind me. I figured what ever this ‘glowing thing’ was had given the message. I understood now why no one had asked for protection, they had hoped it wasn’t real. That the nightmarish idea that the Angels, an ancient race so closely attuned to magick that their bodies had become many times stronger than most other races, would declare war was not even a real option. They had always been civil to the Summerborne Empire.

 

“We will have order!” Bellowed Advisor Psaila. Slowly the hall began too quiet, but the hush that followed was tense and ready to break again. “Young Mister Crafter, I can plainly see that you have faced a terrible ordeal, and I do believe that you are accompanied by the hero Scarlet, who I am pressed to believe would not lie about such a catastrophic event, but do you have any evidence of these claims? Beyond the words of one woman, how do you know that it truly was an Angelic attack? How can you be certain that, in her extreme age, that it was not a hallucination…not to offend you, Lady Scarlet.”

 

“A hallucination?” Scarlet snorted. “I might be old but my mind is still as sharp as the day I shoved Fae’Brand into Belgath’s scaly heart.”

 

“No sensible noble would react to words alone, especially not the words of an old woman claiming to be a dead hero.” Lord Gallynt snapped, distain filling his glare.

 

The silence in the room deepened, if it was possible, it had become even more silent than before and even closer to breaking.

 

“I thought they were a flock of giant eagles…” A small voice whispered. The man, Thomas, stood staring at the ground with hollow eyes. I couldn’t even begin to describe the torment I saw, neither, I believe, could anyone else in the room that stared at the young man. A door opened and closed, the sound of armour clanked as a guard approached Captain Vosser, but still everyone stared at the duo.

 

“My child, what did you say?” The high priest asked, his voice surprisingly soothing.

 

“In-in the woods. I saw…something flying.” Thomas began, making no eye contact with anyone…I doubt you could even say he made eye contact with the ground the way he stared. “I thought it was a flock of giant eagles from the mountains…but not really…how could I have known what they really were?”

 

“Enough of this foolery!” The king roared. “Do you have evidence or not?”

 

“You want evidence?” Snapped Scarlet. “Go to the village, see the weapons. I don’t know any other race that use arrows made of solid metal, or who inscribe their arrows in Angelic runes.”

 

“And we are just suppose to believe that they are there, that these imaginary arrows aren’t just the ravings of a mad woman.” Lord Gallynt laughed, no one joined him. Scarlet suddenly pointed at the guard who stood next to Captain Vosser, he held in his hand an old piece of parchment. The guard jumped slightly at her gesture.

 

“I take it that the decree, young man?” Scarlet demanded. He nodded dumbly. “Alright, you’ll notice that there is some strange whirly writing on it, and then gibberish underneath? Yes? Good, that would be _Aeyum Elahs,_ the language of those uppity High Elves. Trystan thought it would make it harder for someone to fake. The gibberish, which you should follow along with, is what it should be sounding like.”

 

The guard stared at Scarlet as if she had said every word in _Aeyum Elahs_.

 

“Right, so it says: _Lyae na sinehuun, Aeoanala duon mayala viina. Lyae aeyuvaa anaya uum wae maiisuun._ ” The guard moved a finger along the parchment, Captain Vosser staring at it as well over the guard’s shoulder.

 

“That looks to be what is written here.” Captain Vosser stated. “But what does it mean? Its’ translation is written here as well.”

 

Scarlet smirked, seemingly impressed. “Well, I’m impressed. I didn’t think Trystan would add something like that with out telling me…I guess I did teach him not to be so trusting and optimistic.”

 

“Are you able to translate?” Advisor Psaila asked demurely.

 

“It should say something like ‘I am Scarlet, Champion of Aeoanala (or Audren since the other thing is the Elven word of Human lands). I swear by my life my words are true…or maybe My life be sworn that my words or true. Those High Elves have to be complicated.” Scarlet stated. Captain Vosser nodded to the King, a gleam of excitement in his eye.

 

“Well, I am glad to be in your presense.” The King said, veiling his annoyance with fake cheer. “While the crown investigates your claims we will do whatever we can to aid you.”

 

“What a generous offer, just like Trystan would have done.” Scarlet cooed, with a look in her eye that screamed victory. I would wager the King’s statement was exactly what Scarlet wished to hear. “I hope you really are like my old friend and will allow Thomas and myself to stay in the castle as honour guests, just like Trystan use to do, and you do seem a lot like him.”

 

I caught the briefest hint of a smirk on Advisor Psaila’s face, and Lord Whistler didn’t even attempt to hide his amusement and the wondrous trap that Scarlet had laid. The King now had to accept or else see, to be unworthy. He had been compared favourable to his Great Grandfather by a woman who was still renowned and beloved by the people. He could of course say no, but the risk would be to tarnish is reputation, and things said in court had a strange way of making there was to other nations.

 

“Of course.” The King said, in a strained voice. I could tell by the way his jowls quivered that he’d rather be rid of Scarlet and loathed to have a commoner stay as an honour guest, a person who would have full service in the Palace. “Captain Vosser, show Lady Scarlet and her young…retainer, to the guest suite.”

 

“I do quite like that one with the balcony over the courtyard, got my view of trees with out people staring at me to much.” Scarlet commented as she and Thomas were led off by the Captain. The King stood, and made a shooing gesture at the crowd.

 

“Court has now end. Please return to your homes.” The Herald called. I let myself be herded by the masses, my petition left discarded like rubbish. Though I hoped that the new information about an Angelic attack would spark an offensive, or at the very least some kind of reaction from the crown beyond staying idle.


End file.
